


Four People Who Reassured Dylan He Was Attractive (And One He Believed)

by OomnyDevotchka



Series: Kink Bingo 2012 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OomnyDevotchka/pseuds/OomnyDevotchka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fills the Teasing square on my Kink_Bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four People Who Reassured Dylan He Was Attractive (And One He Believed)

**Author's Note:**

> The AfterElton article mentioned is real. It can be found [here.](http://www.afterelton.com/poll/2011/08/marry-hump-dump-teenwolf)

            Before _Teen Wolf_ , Dylan never gave much thought to his attractiveness. Sure, he knew he wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt levels of gorgeous, but he wasn’t _ugly_ either.        

            Even when _Teen Wolf_ started, and he began spending long days in the company of some of the most beautiful people he had ever seen, he didn’t really think about it. Those people were his friends, and that’s all that mattered.

            The thing that finally _did_ start making him think about it was actually ridiculously stupid. Here’s how it happened: one day, a few weeks after the episodes he and the rest of the cast had worked so hard on started airing, he was fucking around on the internet, seeing what was up on AfterElton.com. He had known that he was an equal opportunity kind of guy, sex-wise, for years, so he occasionally liked to keep up with the queer community.

            Anyway, he was scrolling through the site, when one particular headline caught his eye: MARRY, HUMP, OR DUMP! MEN OF “TEEN WOLF”. He couldn’t click on the link fast enough – it would be funny as hell to see what the readers had to say, and Dylan would doubtless find something that he could mock someone with.

            When the page loaded, though, it took him a minute to process what he saw. The first thing on the top of the page was three pictures – Hoechlin, Posey, and Colton, all shirtless. He scrolled down slightly, and his impression was confirmed: there was no mention of him anywhere on the page. He closed the window without looking at the comments.

            How could they not include him? He was, arguably, the second most important ‘man of _Teen Wolf_ ’, after Posey. His character had more screen time, more lines, more _everything_ than Hoechlin’s or Colton’s.

            He simply hadn’t been included because he wasn’t as good-looking as the rest of them.

***

            It’s not like these newfound insecurities plague him all the time – they come and they go, like most other thoughts. But when the hiatus is over, and he’s back to filming? It’s suddenly all he can think about.

            It was bad enough when he only had to deal with being uglier than Hoechlin, Posey, and Colton, the Holy Trifecta of Abs. This season, though, Jeff Davis and the other Powers that Be have decided to bring in about fourteen billion new male characters, one hundred percent of whom are more attractive than Dylan.

            There’s Stephen Lunsford, who pulls off boyish charm in a way that Dylan can only ever hope to achieve. There’s Daniel Sharman, who looks like the bastard child of John Mayer and Zeus and might even be able to beat Colton or Hoechlin in a cheekbone-off. There’s Sinqua Walls, who’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. There’s Michael Fjordback, who has the biggest pair of baby blues Dylan has ever seen. And, to top it all off, they’ve started giving Keahu all sorts of shirtless scenes, and just when the hell did the dude get so _cut_? If Dylan didn’t have a strict ‘no shitting where you eat’ policy, he wouldn’t know whether to be jealous or turned on.

            As it is, he crosses the county line into Jealousville the day he realizes that even the male extras are prettier than him.

            It’s that day that he decides to do what he does best, and whine to Posey about it.

***

            The cool thing about the _Teen Wolf_ cast is that most of them are way more awesome in real life than their characters. The only exceptions to this rule that Dylan can think of are Crystal, though that’s more due to Allison Argent’s excess of awesome than any lack of awesome on Crystal’s part, Sinqua, because Boyd has had like two lines on the show and therefore, his awesomeness is debatable, and himself, because he apparently can’t catch a fucking break.

            Tyler Posey is one of the best examples of this phenomenon. Sure, Scott McCall is a pretty cool character, but he’s got his share of flaws: namely, that he’s dumb as a box of rocks, he has his shaggy head stuck firmly up his girlfriend’s ass, he’s a notorious flake, and he’s got ridiculous wolfy rage issues.

            Posey, on the other hand, is chill as fuck, which is why Dylan has decided to do the cliché thing and become real life bros with his on-screen best friend.

            When he bursts into the trailer, Posey is fully engrossed in his phone, probably texting Seana (who is also super cool, by the way). However, Posey immediately shifts his attention to Dylan, because, again, he is much cooler than Scott.

            “Have you noticed that I’m the ugliest dude on this set?” is what comes out of Dylan’s mouth.

            Posey blinks. “Are you trying to run lines with me, or something?” he asks.

            “ _No_ , dude,” Dylan flops down beside Posey on his futon. “I’m, like, the ugly duckling of this cast. It’s embarrassing.”

            “You’re not ugly,” Posey frowns.

            Dylan gives him an incredulous look. “You’re practically _required_ to say that,” he points out. “Look, have you _seen_ the rest of you guys? You’re like Grade A beefcake, and I’m a Slim Jim.”

            “I can’t decide what part of that analogy is the most disturbing,” Posey says. “You sound like a really bitter fangirl, using words like ‘beefcake.”

            Dylan rolls his eyes.

            “Wait!” When Posey has an epiphany, you _know_ it. He’s the kind of guy that emphasizes body language, even when he’s not acting. “Is that what’s got you all worked up about this? Have you been reading fansites again?”

            “AfterElton.com,” Dylan says under his breath. Raising his voice, he says “That’s not the _point_. The point is that everyone is better-looking than me, and I should quit acting and become a hermit, so that I don’t inflict my ugliness on other people.” He’s joking, of course he is, but there’s an uncomfortable kernel of truth in his dramatics.

            Posey, however good of a guy he is, isn’t quite aware of all the Nuances of Dylan quite yet, doesn’t know him that well. So, he relaxes when Dylan starts joking, content that it’s all for laughs.

            “Maybe you should start dressing in drag,” He jokes. “Less competition among the ladies.”

            “ _Fierce_ competition among the ladies!” Dylan counters. “No way would I be prettier than Holland, Crystal, _or_ Gage if you put me in a dress. They’re like, the Powerpuff Girls of hotness.”

            “Powerpuff Girls?” Posey’s judging him hardcore right now, Dylan can tell.

            “You know, blonde, brunette, and a redhead?”

            “Excuse me, Holland’s hair is _strawberry blonde_ ,” Posey sounds completely serious, parroting one of Dylan’s lines from the show, and Dylan can’t help but laugh.

            When the laughter’s died down, Posey puts a hand on Dylan’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “Dude, if you were a girl, you’d be the prettiest princess.”

            It makes Dylan feel better, strangely enough, but he can’t let that sleight to his masculinity go unpunished, and the conversation is quickly forgotten as Dylan steals Posey’s phone, sprinting out of the trailer while pretending he’s going to read the messages between Posey and his girlfriend. Posey follows, laughing all the way and making pretend growling noises, the dork.

***

            Colton is another one of those people who’s a hell of a lot cooler than his character. Then again, he plays Jackson, so it’s not like that’s hard.

            It’s later the same day. Posey and Crystal are off shooting one of their endless romantic scenes, Holland is taking a nap in her trailer before _her_ next scene, and they hadn’t even needed Hoechlin on set today. So, by process of elimination, Dylan is hanging around Colton while he gets his Kanima makeup done.  

            It’s _really_ freaky to try and talk to someone whose face is half extremely realistic looking scales. That’s how Dylan’s brain justifies what he blurts out after sitting in companionable silence for ten minutes: “Would I make a pretty girl?”

            Colton turns to Dylan, regarding him seriously for a moment. “Yes,” he declares. “You have a delicate bone structure.” He sounds completely serious.

            Dylan has this theory that all the modeling Colton’s done has seriously fucked with his brain, making him comfortable saying shit like that. “I’m not sure if I’m flattered or offended by that,” he says.

            “It’s a compliment,” Colton turns his head obediently at the request of the makeup artist. “Androgyny is attractive.”

            “I’m not _androgynous_!” Dylan protests.

            “No, not really,” Colton agrees. “What I’m trying to say, is that you’d look believable as a woman, as well as a man.”

            “Thanks?” Dylan hazards. Colton can be weird as fuck, sometimes. Also, he’s never quite sure if Colton is hitting on him at any given moment. As far as he knows, Colton’s completely straight, but, again: male model.

            Colton smirks, letting a little bit of Jackson shine through in his expression. The lizard makeup makes it kind of terrifying, actually. “I’d _totally_ hit that, if you were a girl,” he muses, letting his eyes roam over Dylan’s body.

            “ _Dude!_ ” Dylan exclaims.

            Colton laughs. “You’re a bit of a prude, O’Brien,” he says, settling back in the makeup chair.

            Dylan pouts. “You suck. See if I hang out with you ever again.”

            When Colton smiles again, there’s no hint of Jackson in it. “Yeah, right. You love me.”

            Dylan kinda does, in a totally-not-sexual-or-romantic kinda way. He concedes the point with a shrug of his shoulders, and they move seamlessly into a conversation about the episode they’re currently shooting.

***

            Most of the time, Holland Roden is great - sweet, bubbly, a little awkward – but if she hasn’t gotten enough sleep? She can be a heinous bitch from the deepest, darkest pits of Hell itself.

            So Dylan is understandably a bit leery as he ambles towards set. It’s a Stiles and Lydia scene they’re filming, one of the endless hot-popular-girl-cuts-down-the-friendless-loser-who’s-in-love-with-her ones.

            Holland’s nap has apparently refreshed her adequately, however, because she’s sunny and cheerful when he greets her.

            He remembers being shocked when he received this script, because Lydia’s so much _meaner_ than ever before. Her insults are ruthless, her barbs pointed, and he’s pretty sure the Stydia ship is going to be dead in the water after this one airs.

            It’s even worse once they start filming, because hearing the words shouted at him by a beautiful girl is so much more difficult than reading them on the page. Sure, most of them are the kind that are clearly directed at Stiles, rather than Dylan – he’s positive that Holland doesn’t really think of him as an ‘irritating little creep’ – but there’s a jab at his appearance in there.

            “…besides, I’m a ten, and you barely manage a three!” is the conclusion to Lydia’s rant, and it knocks Dylan right out of character, because it’s _true_ , damn it, and he finds himself bolting off the set before the director yells ‘cut’.

            Dylan thinks he manages to choke out something about needing a break, but he can’t be entirely sure: his entire brain in focusing on the fact that he’s _not_ physically attractive enough for this acting gig, that he’s doomed to forever be the ugly, awkward one, while the pretty people flit around him like perfect little butterflies. Oh God, he’s the caterpillar from _A Bug’s Life_.

            He hears a voice say “Dylan?” and briefly considers hiding. But he doesn’t actually want to get his ass fired, so he supposes he’d better shape up and get back to filming.

            He steps out of his hiding place and nearly runs straight into Holland.

            “Dyl? What’s wrong?” she asks, getting straight to the point. He likes that about her. No waffling with that girl.

            “It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Dylan mutters. Apparently, he’s the one that’s prone to waffling.

            “Don’t give me that shit,” Holland scoffs. “I _know_ you, and I _know_ you wouldn’t just run off set for no reason.”

            “It’s just…” he guesses he’s just going to vomit his insecurities all over everyone, then. Cool. “Some of your lines…hit a little close to home, I guess.” God, could he get any more pathetic?

            Holland frowns. “You know I don’t actually think you’re annoying, right?” she asks. “You’re super adorable and I love you.”

            He can’t help but smile a little at the matter-of-fact way she says that, like it’s common knowledge. “It’s not that,” he says, wishing he was anywhere but here. “The comment about me being a three, is what bothered me.”

            Holland literally _gapes_ , which is about the last reaction Dylan was expecting her to have. “You don’t _actually_ think you’re unattractive, do you?”

            “Yes?” says Dylan, because hey, it’s the truth.

            Holland tuts and grabs Dylan’s wrist, dragging him back towards set. “Haven’t you ever heard of ‘Hollywood Homely’?” she asks.

            Dylan thinks that may be a rhetorical question, but he’s never been good with those. “No, I can’t say I have, Teach.”

            Holland smacks him on the back of the head without breaking her stride or letting go of his wrist. “It’s what it’s called when a T.V. show or movie has a supposedly ‘unattractive’ character that’s played by a good-looking actor,” she explains. “Remember Gage’s first episode, when they had her hair all messy, trying to convince the audience she was ugly?”

            Dylan does, and he clearly remembers thinking that there was no way that any of the viewers were going to believe it. Gage is _clearly_ gorgeous, and a little bad hair ‘n makeup can’t hide it.

            “They do it because they don’t want to hire people who are _really_ ugly,” Holland continues. “So instead, they use bad hair, or glasses, or the dialogue, even, to try and convince the audience that a good-looking person is ugly. No one in the audience would think you were ugly, or not able to get a girlfriend, if the other characters didn’t say so,” she shakes her head and huffs. “Hell, I’m pretty sure none of the audience believes it anyway. Get it?”

            Dylan’s not entirely convinced that: a) ‘Hollywood Homely’ is actually a _thing_ , and b) he and his character are an example of it, but Holland’s already dragged him back to the set and is smiling at him like she’s solved all his problems.

***

            They finally get the scene shot, after Dylan ruins three more takes, and he just can’t wait to get back to his apartment and forget that this bizarre, embarrassing day ever happened.

            Of course, because it’s apparently Shit on Dylan Day, he’s cornered by Crystal and her concerned eyes before he can slink off the set.

            “Dylan!” She smiles at him, and for a second he thinks that, just maybe, she wants to talk to him about something else, about something completely unrelated to his attractiveness and the perception thereof. His hopes are mercilessly dashed when she continues. “Holland told me you’ve been having some issues. Do you want to talk about it?”

            No, he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it, because he feels like he’s been doing nothing _but_ talk about it all day. But it’s impossible to refuse Crystal anything, with her sweet face and the ‘I just want to help’ air she exudes. Dylan sighs, and replies “It’s really nothing, Crys. Just noticing that the other guys are better looking than me, is all. I’ll get over it. Besides, who needs beauty? I’m clearly smarter _and_ funnier than all those assholes put together.”

            His fake cocky air is usually good for a laugh from Crystal, but she must not be feeling the comedy today. She frowns at him, before taking his arm and tugging insistently until he begins to walk beside her. “Is this about that press stuff from last summer, where all anyone seemed to talk about was Colton’s abs?”

            The question is much less invasive and mocking than a similar question from Posey had been. It’s also partially the truth, so Dylan huffs out a laugh and responds “Kinda. I mean, it normally doesn’t bother me too much, playing second fiddle to everyone and all. Just a bad day, y’know?”

            They come to a stop near the curb, waiting to a taxi to drive by. “I know what you mean.” Crystal says softly.

            “I find that hard to believe,” Dylan replies. “Little indie darling like you.”

            She sways into him a little, knocking him off balance, but doesn’t release his arm. “I think you’re good-looking, for what it’s worth,” she says sincerely, looking sideways at him through her ridiculous eyelashes.

            The cab pulls up and they climb in, each giving the man directions to their own apartment.

***

            Riding in the taxi with Crystal gives Dylan a sense of calm, but this is short-lived: the second he realizes that Tyler Hoechlin is in his apartment, casually watching TV on the couch, it evaporates.

            It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ Hoechlin, it’s more that he likes Hoechlin a little too much. And how could he not? The guy’s funny, handsome, optimistic, handsome, talented, and handsome. If it weren’t for the fact that Hoechlin is _completely_ out of Dylan’s league, he would abandon the ‘no co-worker dating’ thing in a heartbeat.

            Dylan’s not ashamed to admit that he occasionally loses his morals when it comes to sex. It happens to the best of us, right?

            Anyway, Dylan’s an actor, so he’s pretty sure he’s managed to keep his enormous boner for Hoechlin a secret thus far. It’s gonna be difficult to keep it up, though,  if the guy makes a habit of just showing up in Dylan’s living space, Derek Hale style, whenever he pleases.

            “Dude, stop it with the character bleed already,” is Dylan’s opening line. That’s good, he thinks. Something he would say to any other cast member.

            “Says the king of character bleed,” Hoechlin retorts.

            “When was this decided? I don’t remember my coronation.” Dylan plops down on the couch, putting his aching feet up on the coffee table.

            “I decided it, just now,” Hoechlin says. “Don’t even try to deny it; you’re totally the person most like their character. Sometimes I swear you’re developing Stiles’s ADD.”

            “Yep, that’s me. Just like Stiles,” Dylan grumbles, unable to stop the bitterness creeping into his voice. He’s seriously sick of being a whiny brat today, but he can’t help it: Hoechlin’s words have re-opened his bottomless well of insecurity.

           “Totally!” Hoechlin exclaims. Either he hasn’t noticed the tone of Dylan’s voice, or he thinks that Dylan’s joking. It becomes obvious that the latter is the case when he continues, “Right down to the part where you can’t get a girlfriend.”    

            _Ouch_. It’s not like Hoechlin knows what Dylan’s been freaking out about all day, or about Dylan’s pathetic attraction to him, but that one still stings. Dylan doesn’t respond, choosing instead to stare at the TV. He hopes that Hoechlin will get the hint and go away, so that he can faceplant into his bed and sleep this whole hellacious day away.

            Unfortunately for Dylan, that’s when Hoechlin’s ‘nice guy’ personality kicks in. “Is everything alright?” he asks casually. “You seemed to take that joke a little more…personally than you normally would.”

            “Personally? Who’s taking things personally?” Dylan snarks. Even he can hear the underlying hostility in his voice, product of this whole shitty day.

            Hoechlin frowns. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, uncertainly.

            Dylan is _so fucking sick_ of that question, so _fucking_ sick of people looking at him like he’s someone to be pitied. He finds himself on his feet, facing Hoechlin, with his hands balled into fists. “What do you want to hear about, huh?” he says, surprising himself with the tightly controlled anger he’s exuding. “How my self-esteem is basically fucking nonexistent? How it’s so damn difficult to work with all you guys, you and Posey and Colton and Holland and Crystal and Gage and Stephan and Sinqua and Michael and Daniel and Keahu, day in and day out, showing off your hotness? How I feel like I’m the annoying little brother or ugly stepsister or whatever, tagging along behind all the cool, pretty people? How _you’re_ so fucking out of my league, that -” Dylan cuts himself off abruptly, shocked by what had just come out of his mouth. He can feel his cheeks reddening, and he’s hit with the desire to just run away, ten times stronger than it had been on set.   

            He can’t really run away though: besides the fact that this is his apartment, Hoechlin’s in between he and the door. Even if Dylan somehow managed to dodge him and escape, he wouldn’t be able to get far. He’s been chased by Hoechlin before, and he knows for a fact that Hoechlin, the former baseball player, is much faster than him.

            An awkward silence stretches between them for a few seconds. It lasts long enough that Dylan’s contemplating locking himself in his bedroom like a petulant teenager. Just as Dylan remembers that his bedroom doesn’t actually _have_ a lock, Hoechlin finally speaks up. “I’m not sure what part of that I should address first,” he admits with a laugh.

            Dylan narrows his eyes. “That’s a terrible opening.”

            Hoechlin moves then, so quickly that Dylan barely registers it. One moment, he’s all tense on Dylan’s couch, and the next, he’s inches away from Dylan’s face, pressing him back against the wall. “How’s this?” Hoechlin asks.

            Dylan has questioned it, a time or two or a million, the way Hoechlin behaves around him sometimes. He’s analyzed it, worried at it like a dog with a bone, and has never been able to find any conclusive proof that Hoechlin is into him. Sure, Hoechlin has treated him differently than he treats the rest of the cast from the beginning, but it’s always been subtle enough to allow Dylan to believe that it was out of a deeper friendship, rather than any sort of romantic or sexual attraction.

            Right now, though, it’s pretty hard to ignore the evidence. Hoechlin’s nearly plastered against Dylan, chest to chest, and he has this heated look in his eyes that Dylan has never seen him wear before.

            It’s heady, dizzying, and nearly overwhelming, but unlike his character, Dylan’s been around the block a few times before. He knows how this shit works. He allows his eyes to roam over Hoechlin’s face, making sure to linger over his lips, then drags them up to meet Hoechlin’s. Dylan licks his lips, noting how Hoechlin’s pupils dilate in response, and says “Could be better.”

            When Hoechlin kisses him, it’s a lot softer than Dylan had expected. He’d thought that Hoechlin, with his height and abs and face and all, would be the kind to completely dominate any sexual encounter. Instead, Hoechlin’s lips are yielding, almost like he wants _Dylan_ to take control.

            Dylan thinks he can deal with that.

            He kisses back, and presses against Hoechlin’s chest with his hands. Hoechlin doesn’t fight it, moving back easily, despite the obvious strength advantage he has over Dylan. Dylan continues until the backs of Hoechlin’s knees hit the edge of the couch. He tumbles back, caught off guard, and lands hard in a sitting position.

            Dylan doesn’t waste any time, insinuating himself into Hoechlin’s lap like he belongs there. In this position, straddling Hoechlin’s lap, Dylan can easily feel how hard he is, how much he actually _wants_ this.

            It’s kind of a power trip, and Dylan grins wickedly before grinding down, hard, in one smooth motion.

            Hoechlin lets out this sound that’s a cross between a moan and a yelp, and starts talking. “Do you have _any_ idea what you do to me?” he asks.

            Dylan thinks that’s probably a rhetorical question, but he answers anyway, bringing his arms up to slide over Hoechlin’s shoulders. “Not really. You should tell me,” he says, in what he hopes is a seductive tone.

            He must have hit his mark, because Hoechlin makes that noise again. “I watch you, every day on set,” Hoechlin begins.

            Dylan snorts and says “Creeper”, but runs his hands through Hoechlin’s hair in a comforting motion.

            “God, it’s like you’re always just… _there_ , you know? With your eyes and your lips and your body -” Hoechlin continues.

            “Are you trying to say you’re _attracted_ to me?” Dylan gasps, bringing one hand to his chest in fake shock.

            Hoechlin must know that Dylan was fucking around with that comment, but his answer is completely serious. “I think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever seen,” he says

            OK, if Dylan hadn’t been completely positive he’d be sleeping with Hoechlin tonight (which he had been, of course), that would be the clincher.

            For some reason, though, he decides to draw it out a bit. “So, you _want_ me, huh?” he says, punctuating the word ‘want’ with another roll of his hips.

            “ _Yes_ ,” Hoechlin groans, allowing his eyes to fall shut.

            “You want to _fuck_ me?” Dylan asks. He knows he’s being ridiculous, maybe even a bit cruel, but he needs to hear Hoechlin say it, needs it to be confirmed.

            It doesn’t seem like Hoechlin’s exactly complaining, either. Dylan can feel the dick underneath him twitch at his words, growing, almost impossibly, even harder. Hoechlin doesn’t respond to this second taunt with words, just moves his hands to squeeze firmly at Dylan’s hips and lets out a noise of approval.

            “What do you say?” Dylan asks in a sing-song voice, shifting back slightly so that his ass is no longer pressed against Hoechlin’s dick.

            Hoechlin’s eyes snap open. “ _Please_ ,” he grits out. “God, Dylan, _please_.”

            Dylan rewards him by moving back to his original spot and pressing his lips back against Hoechlin’s. He’s not sure whether it was the begging or the way Hoechlin said his name that caused him to lose control, but he is certain that something about that sentence made it the hottest fucking thing he’d ever heard.

            Things progress rather quickly from there: in short order, both of them are shirtless, and Dylan has acquired many brand new and highly problematic hickeys, if the way his neck feels right now is any indication.

            He doesn’t have the heart to give Hoechlin any shit about those _or_ the stubble burn that he’s sure will show up on his face by tomorrow. However, he does kinda want to move this along, because he’s so horny he feels like he’s going to _die_ , and they are missing a few things that are important, if they want to get to the fucking. He pulls away from Hoechlin entirely, clamoring up out of his lap before he’s tempted to kiss him again.

            Hoechlin opens his lust-clouded eyes, shooting Dylan a confused look. “Where you going?”

            “I’ll be right back,” Dylan promises. “Pants off.”

            He turns away from Hoechlin, shedding his own jeans and boxers as he walks towards his room. He hears Hoechlin make a choking noise behind him as he does, and he may or may not sway his hips a little more than he usually would.

            Once in his room, Dylan nearly pounces on the duffel bag on his floor (unpacking is for losers), digging through it until he finds a box of condoms and some lube. He makes a triumphant noise and rips the condom box open, not caring when they fly all over his room. He snatches one up and walks back into the other room.

            Hoechlin is right where Dylan left him, but now he’s completely, gloriously naked. His cock is just as flawless as the rest of him, and Dylan’s insecurities begin to well up in the back of his mind. He pushes them away though: Hoechlin has already proven that he wants Dylan, and there’s no way Dylan’s going to let his ridiculous inferiority complex get in the way of the sex he’s about to have.

            Dylan returns to his spot on Hoechlin’s lap, holding up the condom and lube as an explanation of his disappearance. Hoechlin doesn’t look as turned on as he did when Dylan left, though. Rather, he looks worried. “Have you ever done this before?” he asks, giving Dylan a look that clearly says ‘I will know if you’re lying’.

            In response, Dylan opens the lube, pours a generous amount over his first three fingers, and reaches back to press one into himself.

            Although it’s been a while since he’s been with another man, Dylan’s used to fingering himself: it’s one of his favorite things to do when he has ‘alone time’, because he always comes super hard when he does. There’s little resistance, and Dylan has already pushed a second finger into himself before he looks up.

            Hoechlin looks completely wrecked. His mouth is wide open, and he’s looking at Dylan like he’s seen the face of God or something.

            This prompts Dylan to put on a little show. Instead of moving his fingers and keeping his body still, like he had been doing, he holds his hand still and begins to move his hips, fucking himself on his own fingers.

            Part of Dylan wants to go on with this for a while, because the look on Hoechlin’s face is priceless, but the other part of him needs to get a cock inside him right the fuck now. He pulls his fingers out of himself and quickly slicks up Hoechlin’s cock, tossing the lube bottle to the side as he sinks down on Hoechlin’s cock, taking him to the hilt.

            It feels amazing, the thick, hard cock deep inside him, and Dylan wants it hard, wants it fast, so he sets a punishing pace with his hips.

            Hoechlin’s hands have gone back there, gripping Dylan’s hipbones tight, and he’s clearly trying to thrust up, but lacks the leverage to do so.

            Dylan loves that, the fact that he’s the one in control here, that Hoechlin can only take what he’s given. If Dylan wanted to, he could slow down, ride Hoechlin slow until he’s thrashing and begging to come.

            He feels like he’s teased Hoechlin enough tonight, though, so he keeps up his pace, angling his hips so that the tip of Hoechlin’s cock hits his prostate with every stroke, and wraps his hand around himself, pulling in a counterpoint to his thrusts.

            Hoechlin wraps a warm hand around Dylan’s, helping him stroke, and it’s this fact that causes Dylan to tumble over the edge, pulling Hoechlin with him.

***

            Later, they’re lying in Dylan’s bed, still a bit sticky because they hadn’t really bothered to clean up properly, and they’re talking. At one point, Dylan uses Hoechlin’s name in the conversation, and Hoechlin looks a surprised.

            “And then I – what?” Dylan asks. He can’t remember saying anything that would earn him that look, but then again, he’s not exactly sure what they’ve been talking about. Sex does that to him, makes him slow and stupid.

            “You called me ‘Hoechlin’,” says Hoechlin, frowning.

            “Yeah…” Dylan doesn’t see what’s weird about that. “I always call you Hoechlin.”

            “I just thought you’d use my first name, now that we’ve…Y’know,” Hoechlin gestures to where Dylan’s kinda draped across his chest.

            “Had sex?” Dylan suggests. Then he registers what Hoechlin had actually said. “No, dude, I’m not gonna be Jackie in this situation.”

            Hoechlin gives him the raise of an eyebrow, which means ‘what the shit are you babbling about now?’, as far as Dylan can tell.

            “Don’t you watch _That 70’s Show_?” Dylan asks. At Hoechlin’s nod (accompanied by a still-raised eyebrow), he elaborates. “Remember how Jackie called Kelso and Hyde ‘Michael’ and ‘Steven’ and it was all awkward, because she was the only one who did? I’m not gonna be that girl.”

            Hoechlin seems to accept that answer. “If the _Teen Wolf_ cast was on _That 70’s Show_ , who would be who?” he asks.

            It’s at that point that Dylan knows for a fact that this thing between them won’t change anything. As they argue about whether Holland or Crystal would be Donna (Hoechlin thinks it should be Crystal, because she’s the girl-next-door type, while Dylan maintains that it would be Holland, and not just because she’s a redhead), Dylan relaxes completely.

            This is gonna be awesome.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Four People Who Reassured Dylan He Was Attractive (And One He Believed)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/702279) by [majoline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majoline/pseuds/majoline)




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